Encounters
by mrspencil
Summary: A collection of individual poems, relating to encounters between various characters in various situations. Chapter 17: Theft: LeBeau and a painting.
1. Sparks

_author's note: I have read several fics describing possible first meetings between main characters, including this pair meeting in this particular place. Signy1's amazing Traduttore, Traditore comes to mind, in particular._

* * *

**Sparks**

* * *

_One born to be charmed by the city of Paris;_

_One born within ear shot of London's Bow Bells._

_One loud and defiant,_

_One silent and watchful;_

_Both cooling their heels in adjacent locked cells..._

~0~

He is hoping to sleep, despite dull, nagging hunger,

And torn, flimsy clothing and hard, narrow bench,

And part comprehensible noise from his neighbour;

Incessant, inventive expletives in French.

~0~

Stained tiles on stained walls; this grey world is familiar;

He has spent many days in this cooler before.

He is not in the mood for such strident distraction;

He opens his mouth to shout back...but there's more...

~0~

The angry response he has planned stays unspoken;

Alongside the rage he hears something else...there.

He listens...beneath all the heat and the anger,

Finds, faint and well hidden, cold fear and despair.

~0~

Initial annoyance, at rest interrupted,

Gives way to a spark and a gleam in his eye.

An impossible task to dispel such emotions;

But that doesn't mean that a bloke shouldn't try...

~0~

He yells through the bars to his hostile companion;

A cheerful, sarcastic and flippant retort.

A stream, in return, of uncensored invective

Suggests that this project requires further thought.

~0~

He buries his skills as an excellent mimic;

His cell mate is French, he'll reply in the same.

He mangles each sentence beyond recognition.

A few halting phrases, his rank and his name.

~0~

He waits for a moment and crosses his fingers;

A sigh...an indignant sharp intake of breath...

Then...words from the heart; full of pride, full of passion;

Defending the "language of love" to the death.

~0~

He grins and responds; keeps his tone quite bewildered;

He tried to be friendly...why take the high ground?

He receives a stern lecture on accent and cadence,

And where the best food in the world can be found.

~0~

And thus it continues, a barbed conversation,

In which neither party sees fit to concede.

Sharp insults, dark humour, bonds form as they battle;

A quiet understanding of where this might lead...

~0~

* * *

_author's note 2: One definition of a Cockney, is someone born within hearing of the bells of St Mary-le-Bow church...I believe the bells were destroyed in a WW2 bombing raid. The bells also feature in the nursery rhyme "Oranges and Lemons, as do the bells of Stepney. And the French language is indeed known as the language of love._


	2. Calculations

_author's note: this is written somewhat tongue in cheek, I hope it makes sense._

* * *

**Calculations**

* * *

He shivered as he hurried through the compound;

The crunch of ice and snow beneath his feet.

Each breath became a freezing cloud of vapour;

A long night stretched ahead and he had duties to complete.

~0~

His helmet did not truly keep the cold out,

The meagre warmth from guardroom stove had gone.

Numb fingers loosely held his trusty rifle.

(No bullets in the chamber and the safety catch was on.)

~0~

A searchlight briefly caught his bulky figure,

And sparkled on the rooftops' heavy frost.

Tall pine trees glittered white beyond the watchtowers;

The magic of the scene, alas, to sergeant's eyes, was lost.

~0~

He felt the cold, bone deep, he hated winter;

It almost seemed to last the whole year through.

He buttoned up his greatcoat to the collar

And wondered what awaited him, this time, in barracks two.

~0~

He sat upon the bench, outside the building,

And pondered on the twists and turns of Fate;

His former life, this soldier's life before him;

And cursed the fragile pathways he was forced to navigate.

~0~

A thud inside the hut as candles flickered,

A muffled conversation...unknown voice,

The creaking of a hinge, an urgent whisper;

He sighed, but did not stir; he made a simple, prudent choice.

~0~

He knew the consequences if he acted,

And strode right in, to catch them all mid stunt;

A convoluted argument would follow,

With flattery and threats and reference to the Russian Front.

~0~

He did not wish to see a bunk bed moving,

A ladder to a tunnel in its place,

A count revealing one of them was missing,

Or numbers adding up, but one a different size and face.

~0~

He did not wish to see an inmate stitching

Gestapo uniforms of every rank,

Or anyone dismantling high explosives,

Or forging money well enough to fool the German bank.

~0~

He did not wish to see the maps and wall charts,

With marks denoting targets close at hand,

He did not wish to hear of any mission,

He did not wish to learn of any monkey business planned.

~o~

He did not wish to see those random strangers,

Who popped up in the bunk room now and then;

The ones in flying suits with foreign accents,

And really did not wish to see those few who were not men.

~0~

He did not wish to see those sore afflicted

With ailments of bizarre, fake origin,

Or bandages which hid much more than grazes;

Like contraband or powder burns or wounds with bullets in.

~0~

He simply wanted life to run more smoothly;

Less chaos and a lot more peace and calm.

The chance to make it safely through this conflict.

He did not wish to see these jolly jokers come to harm.

~0~

He sighed, it was too cold to sit and wonder,

As snowflakes fell, the heralds of a storm.

He could not put it off for any longer;

He stood and stamped his feet, a vain attempt to get them warm.

~0~

He shuffled to the door and rapped it sharply,

Then counted very slowly up to three,

Then pushed it open, stepped across the threshold,

And hoped against all hope that there was nothing not to see.

~0~

A chorus of complaints, of course, erupted;

From irate East End oath to Mid West drawl,

As whirling flakes and chill winds made an entrance;

He hushed them with a gesture and began the evening call...

~0~

Four sat with cards in hands, around the table.

(Ignore their boots; the trail of mud and ice.)

Six lay upon their bunks, all gently snoring.

(Two in outdoor clothing, damp and damaged...don't look twice.)

~0~

One rested, feet tucked in, engrossed in reading,

"His" cap pulled low, a single stray gold curl;

A blanket draped across quite slender shoulders.

(Of course no possibility that this might be a girl.)

~0~

Two had propped themselves against a bunk bed,

(It really hadn't just swung into line.)

One more, with folded arms, observed the counting;

His innocent expression clearly showed that all was fine.

~0~

Two were deep in heated conversation,

Beside the cooking pot; an old routine.

He smiled, regarded both of them quite fondly,

Then frowned and shook his head, rechecked; his counting reached

Sixteen...

~0~

Two chocolate bars, one slice of strudel later,

And all the adding up was sorted out.

Quite mollified, he sipped his fresh-poured coffee;

A mere miscalculation, not the shadow of a doubt.

~0~

He left the barracks, really quite contented;

It could have been, he mused, a whole lot worse.

A glow, despite the harsh inclement weather.

It was indeed a strange, and complicated, universe.

~0~


	3. Deadline

_author's note: this scene is inspired by one in "Never play Cards with Strangers". _

* * *

**Deadline**

* * *

He heard

The words

And bolted

From the kitchen to the barracks,

Down the ladder to the tunnel,

Up the ladder through the stump;

Hit the ground, his heart was pounding,

As he hurtled through the forest,

Almost heedless of the searchlights,

With a rapid, rhythmic thump.

~0~

The fate

Awaiting

Others,

If he failed to reach his target,

Was the stuff of darkest nightmares;

Two companions' lives at stake.

Life or death; each painful breath,

Each stride and stumble took him closer

To those heading into danger;

To the deadline he must make.

~0~

He cleared

The fear

And panic;

Stopped emotions interfering,

As he focused on his running,

And his chance to ease their plight.

Muscles burned with every turn;

He swerved and skidded through the woodland;

Letting nothing slow the progress

Of his swift, nocturnal flight.

~0~

Ahead,

A dreaded

Rumble,

As an engine coughed and spluttered

Into life; his friends preparing

For the convoy rendezvous.

Took the call and risked it all;

A final sprint to block their pathway,

Every nerve and joint protesting

At the strain he put them through.

~0~

A shout,

Though doubt

Persisted

That the foe could hear him yelling,

As the truck rolled on towards him,

Waved his hands; it slowed and stopped...

Huge relief beyond belief,

Familiar arms across his shoulders,

As he tried to calm his breathing,

And his heart rate slowly dropped.

~0~

Quite still

Until

He noticed

Anxious friends with urgent questions,

On his unexpected actions

And how plans became undone.

A weary smile; "Four minute mile".

He hoped to share the details later,

Once recovered from the most

Important race he'll ever run.

~0~


	4. Battleground

_author's note: points of view switch a bit, hope it isn't too confusing._

* * *

**Battleground**

* * *

A chilled and frosted winter's morning; snow and paperwork piled high;

One more long report completed, twenty nine to go...deep sigh.

Coat still damp from morning role call, trace of melted ice on floor.

Pen is poised with ink replenished; noise distracts past office door.

Footsteps heard on wooden floorboards, light and confident, brisk tread.

Murmured words, a stifled giggle; listens in with rising dread;

Calm routine is interrupted; battleground prepared instead...

~0~

A knock, a soft and clear announcement; instinct is to keep him out;

Block a round of verbal sparring. Clear intent becomes vague doubt;

Barring entrance altogether won't, alas, improve his day.

A token protest at intrusion, might provide enough delay;

Time to shift a glass decanter, time to snap a hinged box shut,

Time to brace himself for conflict. Just a lowly prisoner, but,

One who has a surgeon's skill and knows precisely where to cut...

~0~

Now he's at the threshold, smiling; parody of smart salute.

Attitude rings warning bells; a scheme, a plan to execute.

Innocuous initial gambit; in his hand a scribbled list;

Heat and light and food and clothing, Red Cross parcels sadly missed...

List gets longer, items mentioned, ever more and more absurd;

Deadpan tone despite the indignation sparked by each new word.

Agreement made on first few matters; not quite sure how this occurred.

~0~

Meagre patience sorely tested; list is crumpled, cast aside;

Response; crossed arms crease leather jacket; order to retreat defied.

Smirk replaced by new expression, full of hope and innocence;

Appeal is made to camp commander's sense of justice, influence.

Failed escape; one man in cooler, facing sixty days, all told...

Plea to shorten lengthy sentence, well-used strategies unfold;

Picture painted of a firm, fair minded leader, heart of gold.

~0~

Negotiations carry on, despite attempts to call a halt;

Moves and countermoves concerning circumstances, who's at fault.

Somehow the discussion also turns to Russia; transfers east,

An option if protection, due to perfect prison record, ceased.

Numbers flitting to and fro, till days in cooler fall to eight.

Satisfied with bargain made; a strong desire to celebrate;

Takes advantage of distractions; two cigars to liberate...

~0~

Goals accomplished, parting half salute and smile, the meeting's done.

In his wake; relief, and some confusion; who has really won?

Conversations with this captive colonel rarely go as planned;

Hard to work out how the one imprisoned gains the upper hand.

Shakes his head, returns to pile of paperwork, sees crumpled list;

Suddenly, he sees quite clearly everything he may have missed.

He also sees the Russian front, and shudders; dangerous thoughts...dismissed...

~0~


	5. Five who fell

_author's note: aiming at drama, may have hit melodrama:-p_

* * *

**Five who fell**

* * *

A raid,

A routine bombing raid;

Scant cloud, bright stars,

The hunter's moon.

A squadron heading home,

Their work complete;

One plane which drops too soon.

A searchlight hitting dappled wings,

Arched streams of fire catch one alone.

Streamed fire which tears through metal hull,

And dappled wings..

And flesh and bone.

~0~

One second,

One split second,

And...

All mundane matters disappear;

The plane erupts around her crew

In flame and fury,

Fire and fear.

Time stops...

Their world divides in two;

Those men for whom they've tolled the bell;

And those with one uncertain chance;

Escaping from this burning hell.

~0~

Five jump; heed final orders,

Dare not linger with the friends they lost;

First instinct is survival,

None might make it home to count the cost.

White harnessed silk unfurls above,

Descent slows down and guns still roar,

And, far below, three anxious figures

Watch them from the forest floor...

~0~

As branches bend to catch their fall

And clothing rips on random thorn;

And skin is scraped and twigs snap free

And parachutes are tangled, torn;

Five airmen hit the ground and roll;

And gather silk and catch their breath;

And gather wits;

Five unvoiced prayers,

That others also cheated death...

~0~

Soft rustling in the undergrowth;

Profound relief as friend finds friend;

Quick cover sought, as soldiers search;

Despair at how this night will end.

The soldiers pass;

More rustling close at hand;

The airmen...still and tense..

Hear whispers in an accent which

Defies the laws of common sense...

~0~

No clipped commands,

No lethal threats;

No orders to surrender heard;

Instead, the voice betrays

An East End origin with every word.

Excitement and bewilderment quash caution,

As three figures rise,

And offer the assistance of

A most unlikely enterprise...

~0~

Five airmen found;

They search the woods for others,

But they search in vain;

Just scattered torn and twisted fragments,

Scorched and blackened earth remain.

Three shepherds guide their flock of five

Past night patrols and hunting foe,

Till razor wire and towers are reached;

Safe haven waiting far below...

~0~

A searchlight sweeps across a fence;

Beyond, a prison camp is seen.

A group of tree stumps,

Searchlight sweeps are timed,

They make their move between.

One tree stump hides a ladder,

Hides a tunnel entrance;

One by one

They slip inside, no surface trace is left,

No clue to where they've gone.

~0~

Packed earth and wooden beams surround them,

Dimly lit by wire-strung lights.

They stumble past small rooms and alcoves;

Strange and unexpected sights;

Neat racks of garments, reams of paper,

Ink-wet bank notes hung to dry,

Stacked cots, wool blankets neatly folded,

Chemicals in flasks, shelved high.

~0~

They halt, a second ladder;

One rapped signal, and the tunnel's gloom

Is lifted as a square of light appears above;

A barracks room.

Their guides are greeted warmly as they enter,

Bunk slats drop in place;

Five battered airmen and their weary rescuers,

Are face to face...

~0~

Relief as wounds are tended,

Ranks and numbers and full names supplied,

And news of home is treasured;

First hand details of the world outside.

Hot food and drink then swift retreat to tunnels,

Just before role call.

Sincere and grateful thanks from five who fell,

To three who watched them fall.

~0~

Two days of calm activity then follow,

While escape is planned;

From fitting clothes to forging papers,

Every move, a practiced hand.

At last, the five are heading home;

No longer by barbed wire confined;

And those who chose to spurn

The chance of liberty

Remain behind.

~0~

_An airfield,_

_Fourteen days have passed;_

_Lost comrades mourned,_

_A simple wake_

_In memory of lives cut short,_

_Of missions,_

_Of the risks they take._

_Five airmen toast their fallen friends,_

_All five, in silence, contemplate_

_That few who fight this war risk more,_

_Than those behind a stalag gate..._

~0~


	6. Unbroken

**Unbroken**

* * *

It was over.

He could clear away

The metal instruments,

The scattered dressings;

The jacket

That would never be worn again.

He sighed;

So long a night.

He had done his best.

His skills, alas,

Despite vast experience

And knowledge,

This time,

Applied in vain.

~0~

A thin, stained blanket

Covered a form

Which almost

Seemed to be

Sleeping;

No longer in pain,

Silent,

Unmoving,

And at peace.

He rubbed

His red-rimmed eyes;

Despite fatigue

There were

Others to attend to.

Demand,

Thanks to the

Harsh necessities of war,

Continued,

And, perhaps,

Would never cease.

~0~

One more task

Before leaving.

It was important to

Record all the details

Of those final hours;

Actions

And reactions;

And every

Single

Word

Spoken.

He wrote...slowly,

And with great regret.

Name...

Rank...

Serial number...

Nothing more.

The major sighed again

In disappointment.

His prisoner

Had not

Broken.

~0~


	7. A hero goes alone

_Author's note: lighter than the last chapter...hope the character is recognisable. I think the agent is an OC, could not recall the name being used, but may easily have missed it ._

* * *

**A Hero Goes Alone**

* * *

Hammelburg; he's reached the outskirts;

Contact should be close at hand.

Hopes that he recalls the greeting;

Hopes that all will go as planned.

~0~

Unexpected solo mission;

All his friends are occupied.

Unannounced Gestapo visit;

Rest of team are stuck inside.

~0~

Look-out, thief, communicator;

He must master all these roles;

Find the target, set each charge,

Return, avoiding night patrols.

~0~

Optimistic soul by nature,

Rarely daunted, does his best.

Quite determined not to let

The Colonel down and fail this test.

~0~

Civilian clothes, respectful manner;

Sidles into Hofbrau bar.

Surreptitious observation;

Checks who fellow patrons are.

~0~

Older couple in a corner,

Group of soldiers, worse for wear,

Laughing girls, in cheerful huddle,

Workmen with a joke to share.

~0~

Catches eye of harried waitress,

Speaks politely, orders beer;

Also comments on the weather;

"Stars are bright this time of year."

~0~

Waitress smiles, and brings his order,

Adds another phrase as well.

"The stars were polished by the elves."

He grins, she nods, "I'm Tinkerbell."

~0~

Half an hour, her shift has ended;

Rendezvous in old school yard;

Tinkerbell is wrapped up warmly,

Frost is glinting, cold and hard.

~0~

Winding path through fields and woodland;

Secret research base on farm.

Tasked with lab's complete destruction,

Thus reducing Allied harm.

~0~

Guards on duty, dressed as farm hands,

Need distraction, good excuse

For starting blaze in nearby stables;

Setting all the livestock loose.

~0~

He scuttles to the farm in shadows;

Acts while flaming chaos reigns.

He scales the rough hewn wall, unnoticed;

Just one single guard remains.

~0~

Adrenalin has heightened senses,

Increased heart rate, sharpened wits.

He's swift and sure, despite the darkness,

Checking each component fits.

~0~

Twisting wires and placing timer,

Tucked beneath an ancient beam;

Constantly alert for danger.

Really misses usual team...

~0~

Picks up handy sheaf of papers;

London will be glad of these.

Back across to opened window,

Over windowsill with ease

~0~

Climbs from window, still in shadow,

Hears the guard approaching fast.

Responds at once in irate German;

Skills at such are unsurpassed.

~0~

Guard retreats, obeys his orders;

Once he's sure he's out of sight,

He scoots across the moonlit farmyard,

Stumbles once, resumes his flight.

~0~

Almost blunders into waiting

Tinkerbell, she grabs his arm

And hurries him away from danger;

Guides him out of range of farm.

~0~

Back they go through woods, ensuring

Nothing's left to mark their trail.

Nerves are masked by whispered words;

A cheerful, convoluted tale...

~0~

Parts from Tinkerbell at crossroads;

Earns a fleeting farewell kiss.

Smiles and travels on, and pictures

What his pals will make of this.

~0~

Towers and razor wire located,

Long night's work is almost done.

Sees Gestapo staff car leaving;

Grateful that he missed the "fun".

~0~

Finds the tree stump, grins at distant

Loud explosion, bright lit sky.

Drops to tunnel, boisterous welcome;

Mission over.

Piece of pie!

~0~


	8. Debriefing

_Author's note: a scene tagged onto the end of "Is There a Traitor in the House?"_

* * *

**Debriefing**

* * *

The debriefing took place in the Colonel's quarters.

Lines had been delivered perfectly,

The interview had been broadcast,

The message had been decoded,

And the factory had been bombed.

An unqualified success.

Hogan regarded the Englishman,

With intense satisfaction.

Despite reservations,

Despite temptations,

The Corporal had done his duty;

The Colonel expected nothing less.

~0~

Newkirk grinned in acknowledgement.

He had not let the guv'nor down

Despite a challenging assignment,

Despite a double, perhaps triple, betrayal,

Despite unthinkable, personal

Consequences post-war.

LeBeau regarded the Englishman,

With intense sadness.

He wasn't fooled by his expression.

He understood the high price to be paid,

And the simple, devastating truth;

Newkirk expected nothing more.

~0~


	9. Straight to the Dentist

_Author's note: based on a couple of scenes from "Happiness is a Warm Sergeant"_

* * *

**Straight to the Dentist...**

* * *

Straight to the dentist...

A trip into Hammelburg.

Guarding the Corporal,

An escort of one.

A brief interlude

In a Hammelburg hostelry;

A little refreshment,

And then they'll be gone...

~0~

A little refreshment

Enhanced surreptitiously;

Single shots added

With deft sleight of hand.

The strength of the alcohol

Builds exponentially;

Radio gadgetry

Purloined as planned.

~0~

Radio gadgetry

Stowed away silently;

Back with a bottle

To add to the brew.

Standard glass bowl

Lacks sufficient capacity;

Upturned convenient

Helmet will do.

~0~

Upturned convenient

Vessel fills rapidly,

Empties, then magically

Fills up again.

The time passes by

In a blurred Bacchanalia;

Senses are swirling,

Surprising the brain.

~0~

Senses are swirling,

The scene sways alarmingly;

Hard to keep focused

And get a good grip.

Swift liberation of quite

Serendipitous

Wheelbarrow,

Ready for long return trip.

~0~

Wheelbarrow pushed

By a silver-tongued scallywag;

Back to the barracks,

Soused Sergeant and all.

A slurred serenade

As a cheerful accompaniment.

Straight to the dentist?

Neglected to call...

~0~


	10. Six Impossible Things Before Breakfast

**Six Impossible Things Before Breakfast**

* * *

I know that I have faced the insurmountable before;

A hair's breadth from catastrophe, I've evened up the score.

With loaded dice against me, I have made the winning throw;

I've somehow dodged the bullet, missed the noose, outfoxed the foe.

I've faced worst-case scenarios and turned them on their head;

In no-win situations found the "get out" clause instead.

"Impossible" appears to be a word I've redefined;

I've never let a thread run loose, or left a man behind.

I've often pushed my luck, defied the odds and raised the stakes;

I've turned the rule book upside down, exploited all mistakes.

I've looked at every angle and I've rarely missed a trick;

I've simply changed my tack when convoluted schemes unstick.

When ground is lost, I've stumbled to a better, surer track;

And, thanks to fate and circumstance, the finest watch my back.

~0~

But...

Luck can't last forever, and there's pride before a fall;

No gain without some sacrifice, no man can win them all.

The game is up, our plans are known, but still, I won't forget

A phrase which served me well before;

It isn't over

Yet.

~0~

* * *

_Author's note: the title is a quote from Lewis Carroll's "Through the Looking-Glass."_


	11. Dispatched

**Dispatched**

* * *

His day started badly,

He woke far too early;

The chill of the barracks

Disturbing his rest.

The coarse woollen blankets

Were rarely sufficient

For inclement weather;

He swore as he dressed.

~0~

His mood was not helped

By the recent postponement

Of leave, long arranged

To begin two days past.

At least several weeks,

Thanks to enemy action,

Before he could visit

His family at last.

~0~

No chance to protest

As a humble, low ranking,

Unquestioning soldier

At plans gone awry.

He tried not to dwell

On the years since he'd seen them.

He'd just do his duty;

Salute and comply.

~0~

Over breakfast he pondered

On previous assignments;

On playing his part in

The Russian campaign.

He shivered, reliving

The harshest conditions;

No Hammelburg winter

Could match that again.

~0~

He picked up the mailbag

And map from the office,

And stowed them securely;

His usual routine.

He checked the addresses;

All stops were familiar,

From outlying check points

To Stalag Thirteen

~0~

He rode out unheeding

Of crisp autumn sunshine;

Still sad and frustrated;

At odds with the world.

He crossed the main bridge,

As it spanned the steep valley,

Above the deep waters

Which sparkled and swirled.

~0~

The day progressed slowly;

Repeated transactions,

Polite formal greetings,

Collecting the mail.

And there at the back

Of his mind was the hope

That his new application

For leave would not fail.

~0~

He arrived at the gates

Of the Stalag late morning;

He'd followed the set

Regulations on speed.

He found himself pressed

By the Sergeant in charge

To go out of his way,

To perform a good deed.

~0~

He was tired, and disgruntled;

Reluctant for any

Unplanned and unlawful,

Unwanted delay.

But...the money would help him

When travelling homeward;

Ten marks, a fair price

For the Sergeant to pay.

~0~

One small irritation,

On leaving the office;

A prisoner engrossed in

His precious machine.

Sharp words at the

Insolent nerve of the stranger;

Relief when he finally

Rode from the scene.

~0~

He fully intended

Fulfilling his errand;

A Düsseldorf detour

Before he returned.

But a hand raised to halt

At a sentry post swiftly

Recalled him to duty;

A harsh lesson learned.

~0~

He paused at the crossroads,

Turned right towards Braunstadt;

The bridge, bearing scars

From night bombing, ahead.

He knew the repair work

Was part of the reason

He wasn't home now

With his family instead.

~0~

Now onto the bridge,

With deep water below him;

All other sounds lost

To his motorbike's roar

A brief vivid flash

Sparked intense apprehension.

A moment of clarity...

Then...

Nothing...

More...

~0~

_Back at the Stalag_

_They heard the explosion_

_And grinned at a plot_

_Most successfully hatched._

_A vital supply route_

_Now out of commission;_

_One luckless,_

_Anonymous,_

_Soldier_

_Dispatched..._

* * *

_Author's note: this was sparked by the episode "German Bridge is Falling Down". I read that motor cycle units were used at the Russian front early on, but conditions limited this use._


	12. Miles Apart

**Miles Apart**

* * *

He joins in

After slight hesitation;

Declares bets with a one dollar stake.

Settles down, takes his place

And observes Williams' face;

Quite determined to make no mistake.

~0~

Eyes flick down

To the cards on the table,

And across to those still in his hand.

He is sure he has seen

One sly movement between

Two cards dealt; action smooth and well planned.

~0~

He is struck

By a vague disappointment;

Has this man fooled his friends all along?

It will not be denied

They are on the same side;

And he hopes against hope he is wrong.

~0~

Once the cards

Are face up, he is certain;

Williams cheats as he plays, there's no doubt.

Such self-serving deceit

Makes him rise to his feet

And proclaim what he's just figured out.

~0~

He is angered

By blatant betrayal

Of the unwritten rules of the game.

Williams works with the team,

Knows the camp's hidden scheme,

And should treasure that trust just the same.

~0~

He is met

With a sneering denial;

Scans the cards, shows a stashed extra king.

Finds it hard to hold back

From a heartfelt attack

On this man who could spoil everything.

~0~

Newkirk dives

At his foe, bowls him over;

While his friends view his target, askance

Williams moved several times;

After mean, petty crimes;

Now he's burned every bridge, blown his chance.

~0~

Chaos reigns,

Till subdued by the Colonel,

Who regards the whole scene with dismay.

Those involved should think twice;

Just one war will suffice;

No excuse for such wild disarray.

~0~

Hogan glares

At the cause of the mayhem,

At the two angry players involved.

He is sure he can name

Who's precisely to blame,

But this problem's not easily solved…

~0~

_So..._

_Two prisoners, _

_Two card sharps, two __allies;_

_This perceived common ground at the start;_

_But the difference is clear;_

_From the values held dear,_

_And their choices and worth; miles apart._

~0~

* * *

_A_/_N: this is based on a scene from "There's One in Every Crowd", and I think I have borrowed " worth and choice" from Conan Doyle._


	13. Lucky at Cards

**Lucky at Cards...**

* * *

It's luck, or fate, or destiny;

Just call it what you will.

The cards that fall, I know them all;

There's few can match my skill.

But dealing with the fairer sex,

Whatever game is planned,

No matter how the deck is fixed,

I hold the losing hand.

~0~

When checking safe house operatives,

To learn where traitors are;

I guarantee it won't be me

Romancing at the bar.

Two girls, three men, don't count the odds,

I know the final score.

While friends get close and comfortable,

Yours Truly guards the door.

~0~

Or one night out in Hammelburg,

A pleasant interlude;

A pretty face, a warm embrace,

Till German thugs intrude.

I cannot simply leave her there

To face the foe alone;

My sympathy's misplaced, alas,

She'd like our cover blown.

~0~

A planned nocturnal rendezvous,

I take the Guv'nor's spot.

I'm hoodwinked by a female spy,

High risk of getting shot.

My new accommodation,

A Gestapo prison cell

And insult adds to injury;

She wants my mates as well.

~0~

And even when I volunteer

To broadcast and betray,

A second twist, I can't resist

False stories meant to sway.

Untangling truth from lies which add

A gorgeous bird, a tear,

I find becomes impossible,

Though other risks are clear.

~0~

After these adventures

You would think, perhaps, I've learned;

Love's not for me, repeatedly

I get my fingers burned.

But...hope trumps expectation

And my luck could change one day.

I'd hate to miss that one rare time

When aces land my way...

~0~

* * *

_Author's note: refers to events in "The Flame Grows Higher", "Sticky Wicket Newkirk", "How to Catch a Papa Bear", and "Is There a Traitor in the House?"._


	14. Watch and Listen

**Watch and Listen**

* * *

Watch and listen...

Plane approaches;

Parachute and airman

Fall.

Flames erupt

Around the aircraft;

None will make it home

At all.

~0~

Airman lands;

The watchers find him,

Briefly check

His codes and name.

Bloodstained clothing,

Wound extensive;

Hazardous and lethal

Game.

~0~

Little time

To tell his story;

May not reach his goal

Alive.

Must impart his vital message;

Does not know if he'll

Survive.

~0~

Back to barracks, team is waiting;

Watchers hope it's not

Too late.

Plan devised at senior level;

Risks too high

To calculate.

~0~

Briefcase lined with light explosives;

Team must pass

This weapon on.

Somber news

From barracks' medic;

Wound was too severe...

He's gone.

~0~

Watchers contemplate the mission;

Plane and crew, so swiftly

Lost.

Latest scheme

Has rising price tag;

Who can justify

The cost?

~0~

English airfield;

Squadron leader

Scans the skies

For missing plane.

Fellow pilots

Will not sleep

Until their friends

Are home again.

~0~

Watch and listen...

Wait in vain…

~0~

* * *

_A/N: relates to events in "Operation Briefcase"_


	15. Patience

**Patience**

* * *

_A line of cards is dealt, face up;_

_The rest are placed face down in stack._

_Cards flipped over, gentle rhythm:_

_Black on red and red on black..._

Bunk behind him; oddly quiet;

Newkirk does not turn, he knows

Carter's there in troubled silence.

_Cards are checked and matched in rows;_

_Red eight, black seven, steady moves;_

_A simple, but absorbing game..._

He speaks to Carter, while he plays;

"Don't fret about your lousy aim."

A creak, a thud, a stunned response.

Hand raised; "I haven't finished yet.

There's no disgrace in targets missed;

There's something you must not forget.

Andrew, I've had years of practice;"

_Five of clubs fits next to heart..._

"My expertise is undisputed;

But, honestly you played your part."

A snort, his friend is not convinced;

He's failed his heritage, his friends;

And nothing can be said or done

By Newkirk, which will make amends.

_Next card, a five; no use, discarded..._

"Think about the skills required;

The craftsmanship, success depends on

Long before a shot is fired.

I watched you work, your steady patience;

Every detail carved just so.

I only hit that truck, because

You made the arrow, made the bow."

_The ace of spades, a pile is started..._

"Marksmen need the very best;

The truest and the finest lines;

No faults, no flaws; yours passed the test."

_The cards are gathered up and shuffled..._

Newkirk beckons Carter, "Gin?"

He senses, as he deals two hands,

His friend's delighted, grateful grin.

~0~

* * *

_A_/_N: a scene added to the end of "Drums along the Dusseldorf". A bit of an experiment._


	16. Leading Lady

_A/N: based on a couple of scenes from " Will the Real Adolf Please Stand Up", from the point of view of Christina._

* * *

**Leading Lady**

* * *

She takes a deep breath, stops her car on the highway;

Positioned precisely; to block, to impede.

Then, as per instructions, disables ignition

And waits for assistance; a traveller's good deed.

~0~

Experience does not dispel apprehension;

She has to convince with her tale of distress,

Her performance alone has to prove irresistible,

For this mission to have any hope of success.

~0~

As headlights approach, she composes her features;

A tentative smile, rueful words; in return,

An offer of help from the target intended;

No hint of suspicion, just gallant concern

~0~

Declining the option of staff car as shelter;

Her casual suggestion; a cafe nearby.

Perhaps they could stroll to the tavern together?

Act One is complete with the hoped-for reply.

~0~

Polite conversation, impeccable manners;

They enter the bar; and Act Two can begin;

One single, bespectacled, commonplace patron;

Two waiters who usher the customers in.

~0~

They are seated, drinks ordered, the staff fuss around them;

Case stored? No objection. Coat moved? A firm "No."

It's clear where the papers are hidden for safety;

So, on with the Act; the next scene in the show.

~0~

Her role is to fully engage his attention;

Allowing the others to manage the rest.

A smart new arrival, a uniformed captain.

Ensemble distraction is what they do best.

~0~

Cognac and Schnapps and mistaken identity.

A chair for the captain, a beer is supplied.

The bar staff are ready, the papers are photographed,

Once coats are switched round, one moved deftly aside.

~0~

The captain stands up, bids good night to fair company;

Eyes lock, a surprisingly intimate glance.

Where secrets are kept, she's heard whispers and rumours;

This isn't the time or the place for romance.

~0~

He leaves, they remain; one more Schnapps, one more Cognac;

She tries to relax, to avoid undue haste.

Though three have her back, all delays add to danger;

With head counts and roll calls; there's no time to waste.

~0~

At last, her host rises, the bar staff attend him;

His case is returned, and his coat is slipped on;

Then back to the road, where his driver is waiting;

Smiled thanks for his service, and then she is gone.

~0~

_The following night, she is back on the highway;_

_Her role isn't over, there's still work to do._

_Her contact is waiting, no longer bespectacled;_

_Both risking it all as they see the play through._

_~0~_


	17. Theft

_a/n: This relates to an early scene in "Art for Hogan's Sake". LeBeau encounters a painting._

* * *

**Theft**

* * *

His cloth on an ice-crusted window is circling;

A central patch clears; he stares through, sees a crate,

And a painting, revealed, as the frame is raised slowly;

A jolt;

Recognition;

Then deep, burning hate.

~0~

It takes all he has to refrain from reacting,

By storming the office; denouncing the theft.

He pictures his Paris, her art and her beauty;

Picked over by vultures, till nothing is left.

~0~

He waits, while his cloth on the window keeps circling;

He can't look away from the painting; unseen,

As the General is boasting of priceless art thievery;

Contempt for French culture; uncouth and obscene.

~0~

The room is now empty; he enters it swiftly;

His throat is constricted; his eyes are too bright.

This painting should grace a Parisian gallery.

A disgrace, a dishonour; which must be put right.

~0~

No thought for immediate backlash or consequence;

The frame rips apart with one sweep of his knife.

His Paris has fallen to evil barbarians;

Preserving her treasure's worth more than his life.

~0~


End file.
